Stone Soup
by Aimee L. Dupre
Summary: How can a collectible pistol and a calculating invention bring two distrustful conspirators together? The lawyer with a swindler’s past could give the passionate widow everything – his hopes, his dreams, his secret thoughts. But could she trust him?
1. Teaser

**Title**: **Stone Soup**

**Author**: Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006

**Chapter:** Teaser

**Comments** to: feedback to the list or to my email address, new scenes, new story, new characters

**Rating**: PG -- This story may contain some mild violence.

**Pairing**: none (of original series' characters)

**Spoilers**: The story contains references to another short story by the author, _Stone Cold Heart._

**Archive:** Yes, at http/ http/tv.groups. and at author's website, http/aimee-dupre. NOTE: Author's website includes pictures from the original series.

**Summary:** How can a collectible pistol and a calculating invention bring two distrustful conspirators together? The lawyer with a swindler's past could give the passionate widow everything – his hopes, his dreams, his secret thoughts. But could she trust him? Only U. S. Marshal Jared Stone can show them they are after the same things: justice . . . and love.

**Warnings:** This story contains some mild violence and veiled references to sex.

**Disclaimer:** The characters in the story (with the exception of new characters created by Aimee DuPré) are the sole property of Peacemakers, USA Networks, and in association with Michael R. Joyce Production. This is a work of fan fiction that intends no infringement on copyright or trademark.

**New Characters:** New characters created by Aimee DuPré include Mrs. Emily Jordan (Katie Owens' aunt), Mr. Elliott Stone (Jared Stone's cousin), and Tevis Carver, Bank President, and are the sole property of Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006.

**Author's Notes:** none

**Stone Soup**

By Aimee DuPré

Copyright January, 2006

Stone awoke to the sound of a hard rain on the tin roof. He was slightly confused from his deep sleep, but then he realized he was in his own bed on the second floor of the U.S. Marshal's office. He flung back the quilt covering and woolen blanket, sat up and stretched his arms back over his head. One shoulder cracked and he rubbed the aching muscles. Damp weather always made his joints ache more than ever. He knew he was in for it today. He listened to the sounds of the thunderstorm outside his windows. The sky was overcast, and it looked to be another cold, miserable day.

"Marshal! Marshal Stone!"

He heard Chipper calling from his office below.

"Up here," he answered.

"Marshal!" Chipper yelled as he took the stairs two at a time. "Come quick!"

"Slow down, son. You're all outta breath."

"You gotta hurry, Marshal." Chipper was soaked through with the rain, and it dripped off his nose in a large drop that almost make Stone laugh.

Stone reached for his pants, stood up, and pulled them on over his long johns.

"Where's the fire?" he quipped.

"No fire. A killin'."

Stone stopped right in the middle of buttoning the fly.

"Who killed who?"

"Not yet. That's why you gotta hurry."

Chipper excitedly pushed Stone's boots closer to him while Stone kept dressing, grabbing yesterday's shirt off the floor where he'd thrown it late last night. He didn't bother with the buttons as he grabbed his gun belt off the poster at the head of the bedstead.

"Sure wish I had time some morning to leisurely go to the outhouse," he grumbled. "Is Finch back from Durango yet?"

"No, sir," Chipper said as he pushed Stone's boots to him.

"Who's gonna kill who?" he asked again.

Chipper took a deep breath as Stone sat back down on the bed to pull his boots on.

"Katie's aunt is gone to kill the banker."

Stone stopped with his right boot halfway on. He looked at the serious expression on his young deputy's face and began to laugh.

"Marshal, it's serious. I swear. Mr. Carver called the loan on the mortuary and Katie Owens can't pay it, and Miz Emily said she'd take care of that banker herself, and Amy told me she took her father's old Mexican war pistol and took off headed for the bank. Amy said she's fixin' to kill him, and Marshal, you've gotta stop her!"

Stone laughed again. "Mrs. Emily Jordan wouldn't hurt a fly, Chip. She's the most genteel Christian lady I . . ."

Kaboom! It sounded like a small cannon as a gunshot rang out over the noises of the storm.

As the marshal and Chipper looked at each other in surprise, they simultaneously said, "The bank!" and they raced each other down the stairs.


	2. Act One

**Title**: **Stone Soup**

**Author**: Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006

**Chapter:** Act One

**Comments** to: feedback to the list or to my email address, new scenes, new story, new characters

**Rating**: PG -- This story may contain some mild violence.

**Pairing**: none (of original series' characters)

**Spoilers**: The story contains references to another short story by the author, _Stone Cold Heart._

**Archive**: Yes, at http/ http/tv.groups. and at author's website, http/aimee-dupre. NOTE: Author's website includes pictures from the original series.

**Summary**: How can a collectible pistol and a calculating invention bring two distrustful conspirators together? The lawyer with a swindler's past could give the passionate widow everything – his hopes, his dreams, his secret thoughts. But could she trust him? Only U. S. Marshal Jared Stone can show them they are after the same things: justice . . . and love.

**Warnings**: This story contains some mild violence and veiled references to sex.

**Disclaimer**: The characters in the story (with the exception of new characters created by Aimee DuPré) are the sole property of Peacemakers, USA Networks, and in association with Michael R. Joyce Production. This is a work of fan fiction that intends no infringement on copyright or trademark.

**New** **Characters**: New characters created by Aimee DuPré include Mrs. Emily Jordan (Katie Owens' aunt), Mr. Elliott Stone (Jared Stone's cousin), and Tevis Carver, Bank President, and are the sole property of Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006.

**Author's Notes:** The banker's phrase "lock, stock, and barrel" meaning "the whole thing," originated with the invention of the standardized manufacturing production of guns and refers to the three major parts needed to construct a muzzle-loading rifle or pistol.

Stone's recollection of Emily baking cookies is a reference to Aimee Dupré's short story, Stone Cold Heart, archived at the usual archives (listed above).

The "San Patricios" or Saint Patrick's Brigade have a somewhat cloudy early history. Very little is known for certain regarding their recruitment. One popular tale (portrayed in the 1999 film One Man's Hero, produced by and starring Tom Berenger) states that the nucleus of the unit was formed following the severe prejudice against and punishment of Roman Catholic soldiers who had attempted to sneak into Mexican territory and attend Mass. It is known that the Mexican army actively recruited Catholic Americans by characterizing the war as one of Protestant versus Catholic, and by offering sizable land grants to those who left the American ranks to join the Mexican army.

Robert Ryal Miller, author of "Shamrock and Sword," discovered Riley's death certificate. Like Riley's Mexican army records, it used the name "Juan Reley." It read: "In the illustrious city of Veracruz, on Aug. 31, 1850, I, Don Ignacio Jose Jimenez, curate of the parish church of the Assumption of Our Lady, buried in the general cemetery the body of Juan Reley, 45 years old, a native of Ireland, unmarried, parents unknown."

**Stone Soup**

By Aimee DuPré

Copyright January, 2006

Act One 

Marshal Stone pushed his way through the crowded lobby to the Silver City Bank & Title president's office. Painted in large gold letters onto the frosted glass panel in the door were the words: Tevis Carver, President. Carver had taken over when Horace Trico had been transferred to the Denver branch. The door was opening when Stone reached it, and Mr. Carver ran right into him.

"My God, Marshal Stone! Arrest that woman! She tried to kill me!" His straight black hair was slicked straight back, and his black eyes, which could usually be described as beady, were so large that Stone could see the whites all the way around them. The banker was shaken but not wounded.

The marshal attempted to calm the panicked banker. Under other circumstances, Carver would have been appalled at clinging to him like a scared child. Now he had turned as pale as a ghost. Something must be terribly wrong. Stone still couldn't bring himself to believe that Emily Jordan posed a danger to anyone.

Stone grabbed Carver's shoulders and pushed him back into his office, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot. He hoped Chipper could get that crowd under control by himself.

Stone immediately took in the situation. Mrs. Jordan stood in the left corner, a Whitneyville Walker in her hand, pointed at the floor. Plaster from the ceiling was scattered on the carpet in front of her. Rain dripped at a fairly good rate through the hole in the ceiling.

"Emily," Stone gently spoke, knowing she was upset and liable to be unpredictable. "Put the pistol down, on Mr. Carver's desk."

Katie's aunt focused on him for the first time. She stood calm and collected as she shook her head in the negative.

"That animal attacked me. I want him arrested."

"That woman tried to kill me! She's the one who needs to be jailed." Carver pushed Stone away and started towards his desk, but when Mrs. Jordan pulled herself upright -- though the gun was still pointed at the floor -- the banker had a change of heart. He positioned the marshal between himself and the woman.

"Emily," Stone said in exasperation. "I won't be able to help you till you put down that gun. Do it now!" he commanded.

To his surprise, she walked to the desk and gently laid the pistol on the corner, then backed away from it.

"I was not going to kill him, Jared."

"Yes she was!" Carver yelled from behind Stone.

"No," Mrs. Jordan asserted. "If so, they'd be carrying your dead carcass out of here in a pine box to the Owens' Mortuary."

Stone could stand it no longer. "Carver, go sit down over there. You pawin' on me is irritatin' me to no end."

"It irritated me, too," Mrs. Jordan said as Carver cowered across the room to a chair on the right side, opposite his accuser.

Stone motioned for her to sit in the banker's chair behind the desk as he picked up the Colt pistol and looked at it. It was an 1847 Army pistol, 15 inches long with a 9-inch long barrel. The grip was polished walnut.

"I fired into the ceiling, Marshal," she calmly told him, watching him as he intently examined the gun.

Stone looked up at the damaged plaster overhead. _Amazing what a .44 caliber bullet with 50 grains of black powder will do to a ceiling,_ he thought. He unloaded the remaining five bullets and put them in his coat pocket.

Carver nervously piped up. "I felt the wind from that bullet graze my ear." He put his hand to the left side of his head. "I'm surprised I'm not bleeding. That's how close it was."

"Carver," Stone gave him a cold-eyed stare. "Shut up."

The man clamped his mouth so fast that his false teeth audibly clicked together. Jared almost laughed when he thought about how everyone accused Carver's dentist of using horse teeth for his dentures. Such things were often done, even the use of cadavers' teeth.

"Go on, Emily," Jared prodded as gently as he could. He kept looking at the weapon as she spoke, and he turned it over in his hand.

"When Mr. Carver telephoned to inform me that he had called the loan on the Owens' Funeral Parlor, knowing that we had no funds to pay it off, I came directly over here . . . "

". . . with a gun to shoot me!" Carver interrupted.

Stone glared at him, and he shut up.

"I came over here," she continued, "with Father's old Mexican War pistol to see if Mr. Carver would take it as four months' payment on the mortgage. I reckoned as it might be worth a hundred dollars or so."

Stone looked surprised and commented, "I reckon it just might at that." It was in fine shape for a forty-one-year-old Colt Walker, a beautiful weapon, well-oiled, well-kept.

"Mr. Carver refused. He said there was something else he would take as payment, . . . " She began but paused. "Then he made a lewd suggestion and attacked me."

"She threw herself at me and when I refused her advances, she threatened to shoot me!" Carver yelled.

"I shot _at_ you," she yelled back, "because you were trying to have your way with me." She rose to her feet. "If I'd _aimed_ at you, I would have killed you."

"She's right," Stone agreed. "This 'hand cannon' would have put a hole in you like it did the ceiling."

Everyone was quiet for a while, and Stone could tell the crowd outside the door had dissipated. Chipper was getting to be quite the accomplished deputy.

"Carver," Stone finally said. "You can press charges against Mrs. Jordan, for brandishing a weapon and assault."

Carver grinned wickedly at her, almost as if he would stick out his tongue in derision, until Stone continued.

"But . . . Mrs. Jordan can press charges against you for assault and battery."

"What's the difference?" Carver nervously asked.

"You see, if the victim has actually been touched by the person committing the crime, then battery has occurred. If the victim hasn't been touched, only threatened, then the crime is assault." Stone didn't want Carver to know that aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, or assault with intent to kill was considered much more serious than simple assault. No need to fan the flames.

"_She_ touched _me_," Carver said. "But I can see you don't believe me."

Stone looked at each of them in turn. "I suggest we let this whole matter drop and say the weapon was fired accidentally. What do you think?"

"I think that I am closing my personal account with this bank immediately," Emily Jordan said.

"No great loss," Carver answered. "Miss Owens' loan is due the end of the month or I take the mortuary property. Lock, stock, and barrel."

Stone stuck the unloaded pistol down his waistband and had a crazy thought: _I sure hope my pants stay up! It's got quite a heft to it; must weigh almost five pounds._

"Mrs. Jordan, may I escort you out?" Stone asked and gave her his arm.

"I shall never set foot in this bank again!" she called over her shoulder on her way out in front of the marshal.

Stone tipped his hat to Carver. "Hope the rest of your morning goes smoother."

Carver shut the door to his office and smiled with glee, realizing he had raised no suspicions.

Back in his office, Stone studied the pistol he confiscated from Mrs. Jordan. She had not asked him to return it to her when he escorted her to the mortuary, and Katie and Amy had been so glad to see their aunt safe and sound that he hadn't pushed the matter.

He gathered from their talk that there was some surprise on Katie's part about the mortgaged loan, but he had quickly and quietly taken his leave. He had been acutely aware of feeling excluded from their family discussion. He realized it was unintentional, of course. Yet the distance was evident to an old coot like himself.

Now he held the greatest prize for Colt collectors -- the renowned 1847 Whitneyville-Walker. This was the legendary revolver that got Sam Colt back into the gun business with a government contract. The Walker was the first repeating revolver purchased by the Army Ordnance Department.

Stone checked the markings on the gun's barrel: SAML COLT NEW YORK CITY. Near the trigger guard, initials were neatly scratched in the surface.

He looked up at a soft knock at his door. He stashed the weapon in his middle desk drawer then arose to admit Mrs. Jordan.

"You don't have to knock. Just walk right in," he told her.

"Just like heaven," she quipped as she stepped inside. Seeing his blank expression, she added, "Never mind. It's just a song I once heard. I came to ask you something, Marshal."

"Jared," he replied, and motioned her to be seated. He went behind his desk and sat. "We've known each other long enough to be on a first name basis."

"Jared, would you really have arrested me in the bank this morning?"

"Yes, ma'am, if Carver had forced me by demanding it." Stone's expression grew stern. "You did a terrible thing, Emily. Assault with a deadly weapon is a serious offense."

She lowered her eyes. "I know," she softly said.

"But, if it's any consolation, I knew you were telling the truth and he was lying."

She looked up. "How did you know?"

Stone grinned. "What woman in her right mind would try to seduce Tevis Carver, even if he is one of the wealthiest men in Silver City? Besides, even if you did, a man would hafta be a fool to refuse the advances of such an attractive woman."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she said. "You do pretty well."

She grinned back at him in a friendly way, but he grimaced as he recalled the time he led her to believe he would stay and listen to her play the piano. He had interrupted her while she was baking – cookies, if he remembered correctly. She had gone off all excited and almost burned her hand. She had flour all over herself and her clothes. Then, when she went upstairs to change . . . he ducked out. Well, he had left her a note. Still he had run away from . . .

"The Bible tells us to run away from temptation, Jared." She interrupted his thoughts. "I think you did the right thing that evening. You saved me from making a complete fool of myself."

"Miz Emily . . . "

She held up her hand to stop him. "That's water under the bridge."

"There's a lot under there what with this deluge," he commented. "Any idea why Carver picked this morning to actively pursue you?

She smiled. "Yes, but first I have another question for you," she said.

He held up his hand to stop her as he opened his middle desk drawer and removed her father's pistol.

"You came for this," he said as he handed it to her.

"Yes. But my question is, why were you studying it so carefully back there at the bank?"

He pursed his lips.

"I'm a student of history, Emily. I do a lot of reading about battles and wars. Your pistol dates from Mr. Polk's War that grew out of unresolved conflicts between Mexico and Texas. The U.S. wanted to expand, so fightin' began in April 1846 when Mexican cavalry attacked and captured an American detachments near the Rio Grande. After the border clash and two battles, Polk requested a declaration of war. He said Mexicans had invaded our territory and shed American blood on American soil, so Congress declared war in May. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, signed in February of '48, ended the war and we were given undisputed control of Texas, California, Nevada, Utah, and parts of Arizona, New Mexico, Wyoming and our own state of Colorado. This gun right here helped us win that war."

Stone held it up and turned it in his hands. "You the one keepin' it so clean?"

"Yes. Father taught me that it's important to keep a weapon clean, especially after it's fired."

"He taught you well. I took the liberty of cleaning it for you this time." He laid it on the desk in front of her. "I'm hopin' there won't be any more weapons discharged, 'specially not inside, and most 'specially not in banks. I don't want to have to have this conversation with you again, Emily. You might be facin' me behind bars instead of behind a desk."

"No, Jared. You won't need to chastise me again. I supposed it would only be right for me to offer to make restitution to the bank for the damaged ceiling."

"I figure Carver's gonna file suit against you for that anyway. Maybe I can talk him into settling out of court."

"I would appreciate that, Jared."

He slid the gun towards her.

"Since your grandfather's name was Asa Owens, whose initials are J.R.?"

"I noticed that engraving. Father never told me much about the gun, except that he got it from a soldier named Juan Reley. Not a Mexican, though he took on a Spanish name."

"I believe this was John Riley's weapon. He was a lieutenant, one of several hundred immigrant Irishmen who deserted the US Army to fight for Mexico in the war. Riley deserted before war was declared, so he avoided being executed after his court martial in Mexico City in '47. He formed the Batallón de San Patricio. You ever hear of it?"

"The Saint Patrick's Battalion. Yes. Those captured by the U.S. Army suffered harsh reprisals. Those who deserted before the declaration of war on Mexico were branded with the letter 'D' as deserters and sentenced to the stockade at hard labor. Those who deserted after the war were hanged for treason."

"I heard they branded Riley on his face instead of his buttocks," Stone commented, then turned red-faced when he realized what he'd said. He quickly changed the subject. "This pistol could be quite valuable to a collector."

"I'm sure it is valuable, Jared. The Smithsonian Institute in Washington, DC has expressed interest in examining it for authenticity. I have their letter."

"Why don't you have it appraised?"

"It's too expensive for me to travel to Washington, and I don't trust the postal service. Whatever would I do if it were lost? After all, even if it isn't valuable, it is an heirloom."

"I wish I could do somethin' to help you, Emily. It's a shame to owe that money to the bank and have such a valuable treasure sittin' right here."

"That's why Carver was after me – not really me, but the pistol. But I have an idea."

"An idea?"

She marveled at his excited expression and the way his blue eyes shone.

"Tell me," he said, leaning closer.


	3. Act Two

**Title**: **Stone Soup**

**Author**: Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006

**Chapter:** Act Two

**Comments** to: feedback to the list or to my email address, new scenes, new story, new characters

**Rating**: PG -- This story may contain some mild violence.

**Pairing**: none (of original series' characters)

**Spoilers**: The story contains references to another short story by the author, _Stone Cold Heart._

**Archive**: Yes, at http/ http/tv.groups. and at author's website, http/aimee-dupre. NOTE: Author's website includes pictures from the original series.

**Summary**: How can a collectible pistol and a calculating invention bring two distrustful conspirators together? The lawyer with a swindler's past could give the passionate widow everything – his hopes, his dreams, his secret thoughts. But could she trust him? Only U. S. Marshal Jared Stone can show them they are after the same things: justice . . . and love.

**Warnings**: This story contains some mild violence and veiled references to sex.

**Disclaimer**: The characters in the story (with the exception of new characters created by Aimee DuPré) are the sole property of Peacemakers, USA Networks, and in association with Michael R. Joyce Production. This is a work of fan fiction that intends no infringement on copyright or trademark.

**New** **Characters**: New characters created by Aimee DuPré include Mrs. Emily Jordan (Katie Owens' aunt), Mr. Elliott Stone (Jared Stone's cousin), and Tevis Carver, Bank President, and are the sole property of Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006.

**Author's Notes:** "Whiskey For My Men and Beer For My Horses" is a song by Willie Nelson and Toby Keith. The music video featured scenes from the pilot episode of Peacemakers.

To know "poor bull from fat cow" means to know good times from bad.

El's comment about Jared being the only man he ever knew who could sneak up on a Cheyenne dog soldier is a veiled reference to Tom Berenger's character of Lewis Gates in Last of the Dogmen, about a lost tribe of Cheyenne dog soldiers.

The reference to the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City is a "hats off" to the longest running western drama series in television history, Gunsmoke.

Today, only 168 Colt Walkers are known to exist, and their value can exceed $100,000.

I must admit, I "stole" the Sucaba invention from a novel by Sidney Sheldon called If Tomorrow Comes. Tom Berenger was in the 1986 mini-series.

**Stone Soup**

By Aimee DuPré

Copyright January, 2006

**Act Two**

"Raffling off a traitor's weapon?" Mayor Smith was incredulous. He stood at the bar in the Velvet Cushion Saloon and examined the large, long pistol in front of him on the bar counter without touching it. Outside, the rain still fell in torrents and even inside it was gray, dank, dark, and depressing.

"Who wants to buy a raffle ticket for the gun of a deserter?"

"You do, Mayor," Stone stated. "Five dollars each. You'll take twenty."

"A hundred dollars? I think not. Where did you get those tickets printed, anyway?"

"The Silver City Sentinel was kind enough to make them up for us."

"Us?"

"Uh, . . . " Stone stammered. "Well, Mrs. Jordan. The pistol will be raffled off at the Fall Barn Dance. The raffle will raise money for the Owens' Mortuary bank loan. Katie's father borrowed against it to send her to medical school. Katie never knew about it till the payments were overdue."

The mayor held up his hand. "I heard about the shooting at the bank," he laughed. "From what I heard," he lowered his voice as if imparting a secret, "Owens thought he'd only need the loan short term, so he mortgaged the property at the going rate, 36. That interest adds up quick, especially when his heirs made no payments."

"Carver tell you that?"

"Maybe," the mayor said, so careful not to reveal his source that he did so. "I also heard that Mrs. Jordan is quite the feisty lass underneath that psalm-singing, church-lady exterior."

Stone nodded his agreement. "Would you like to have this small cannon pointed at you?"

Mayor Smith shook his head in the negative. "So, Marshal, how did you come up with this raffle idea?"

"Uh . . . Mrs. Jordan. She said it's just like stone soup."

"You have completely lost me, Stone. Any reference to your surname?"

"None that I know of. The story she told me is how this soldier was on his way home from the 'Recent Unpleasantness.' He was tired and hadn't eaten for days. He came to a small town that had been ravaged by the war, so they were wary of strangers, 'specially soldiers. They figured he'd be hungry, but they had so little for themselves, they hid their food.

"The soldier stopped at several houses, but they lied and said they had no food. So the soldier told them he'd hafta make stone soup. He asked for a large pot, water, a fire, and three smooth stones. He dropped the stones in the pot.

"He told them soup needs salt and pepper, so children ran to fetch it. Then he told them carrots would make it better, and a woman ran to get carrots. He told them a good stone soup should have some cabbage, and another woman scurried off.

"With beef and potatoes to add to the taste, the soup was ready. And after they ate, the people told the soldier they'd never go hungry again now that he'd taught 'em how to make stone soup."

"I don't get it," the mayor said, scratching his head.

"You will," Stone mysteriously answered.

"So did Parker print these for you on your good looks or on Emily Jordan's?"

Stone smiled and winked. "Gave him twenty raffle tickets."

The mayor looked surprised. "Good business sense, Marshal. Didn't know you had it in you."

"Don't. It was the widow's idea. You know, this gun could be worth a small fortune to some Eastern museum like the Smithsonian. Did you know that the Smithsonian was established the same year this pistol was manufactured?"

"No, can't say as I did. When was that, you say?"

"1846. Did I tell you the Smithsonian wrote Mrs. Jordan a letter?"

"You don't say!"

"They tell her that upon authenticity, this pistol could be worth ten thousand dollars."

Mayor Smith swallowed hard. "Double eagles good enough?"

"Your twenty dollar gold pieces are always good, Malcolm. I'll count out your tickets," Stone said as he glanced up and looked in the mirror behind the bar.

A man was entering the Velvet Cushion. He wore a flat-crowned black hat pulled down so low that his face was almost hidden. Rain dripped off the brim and he took off his hat and shook the water out of his hair like a dog coming out of the water.

Stone froze as he recognized the man.

Then the man saw Stone's face reflected in the mirror and also froze. The stranger's right hand slowly moved his jacket out of the way and he placed his hand on the handle of his gun as Stone slowly turned to face a man of the same height, with eyes just as blue as his own. The biggest difference in appearance was that a touch of gray invaded Stone's temples.

"Jared Stone!" the stranger said in surprise as he reached up and pushed his hat off his face. "Shoulda known you'd be hangin' out in the saloon this time of day. Still think you can outdraw me?"

"My God, Jared!" The mayor was so upset that he used Stone's given name. "Is that man your brother?"

Stone quickly glanced over at the mayor, then kept his eyes on the stranger.

"No. I'd hate to have to claim that low-down skunk as my kin."

"Hah!" said the man who looked like him. "Just because you finally made somethin' of yourself – and with my help, I might add – and never a word of thanks for me gettin' you off in only three years instead of the maximum fifteen."

"What is he talking about?" the mayor asked. "Who is this man, Stone?"

"My lawyer," Stone answered. "You know how you can tell a lawyer's lyin'?"

The other finished for him, "His lips are movin'. Why you no good, drunken scoundrel!"

The man ran towards Stone and Mayor Smith hid his face in his hands. He heard slapping sounds and looked up as the two men enthusiastically embraced and clapped each other on the back like long lost brothers.

"Cousin Jare!" the man called.

"Cousin El!" Jared called back. "You still sweet talkin' little ol' widow ladies outta every penny of their estates?"

"Like you're still orderin' whiskey for your men and beer for your horses!"

"Those days are long gone. I'm a federal marshal now."

"Well, I'll be. I heard about that and barely believed it. Guess you'll be surprised to know I'm a fine upstandin' attorney in Yellow Dog."

"You mean you're still standin' upright after all these years?"

They both laughed.

"Oh, Mayor," Jared suddenly remembered his presence. "El, this here's the mayor of Silver City, Malcolm Smith. Mayor, this is my father's youngest brother's youngest boy, my baby cousin, Elliott Stone."

"Pleased to meet you," the mayor said, extending his hand. The other Stone grabbed it firmly and gave it a vigorous shake. The way the marshal had made the introductions had not escaped the mayor's notice, either. Stone introduced his cousin to him, not the other way around like he should have in order to show respect for Smith's age and position.

_A lesser man than me might have taken offense_, the mayor thought.

"Jare and I shore knew poor bull from fat cow," the younger Stone told the mayor. "Jare here is the only man I ever knew who could sneak up on a Cheyenne dog soldier."

"And Elliott here is the only man I ever knew who spent most of his ill-gotten gains in the Long Branch Saloon on fast women, whiskey and gambling. The rest of it he squandered."

The two men laughed as the mayor interrupted. "I've heard of the Long Branch. Isn't that a notorious cathouse?"

Elliott's blue eyes sparkled. "Jare sure oughta remember that place!"

The Marshal nodded and added in explanation, "There were a lot of complaints about it by the upstanding citizens of Dodge City." He paused and then slapped Elliott on the back again. "What the 'El you doin' in Silver City," he punned.

"Business, dear cousin. S'posed to see a Mr. Carver at the Silver City Bank & Title."

"Legal business?" Jared's eyebrows rose in curiosity.

"Bankin' business," Elliott mysteriously replied. "Whatcha got there?" he asked, pointing to the pistol on the bar counter.

"Nothin'." Jared quickly placed the weapon down the front of his pants. If there was money in it, Elliott Stone knew the trick.

"By the way, Marshal," Mayor Smith interrupted. "My raffle tickets."

He waited as Stone counted them out. The mayor dropped five coins in Jared's open palm.

"I do hope, Marshal, that you find a safer place for that Colt Walker than down your pants."

Elliott laughed loudly. "How true, Jare. That never used to be a very safe . . . "

"Shut up, El!" Jared growled. "It's goin' in the bank safe right now."

He stormed out of the saloon, with Elliott hot on his heels.

"Jare! Hold up! I'll go with you, since I'm goin' there anyway."

"Yeah." He didn't slow his pace.

"You know, I stood outside the saloon and listened to you talkin' to the mayor. That ain't the version of stone soup I heard."

"No?"

"No. Stop here on the sidewalk and let me fill you in."

"Don't have time, El."

"Sure you do. How 'bout your office?"

"How 'bout you make a long story short?" Jared kept walking across the town square.

"The story I heard was mostly the same, but the emphasis was on the wool that got pulled over the townfolks eyes by the sly soldier. It ain't hard to make stone soup, if you've got somethin' good to add to it. I reckon even a man as hardheaded as you can see the subtle difference. So, cousin, tell me about this widow Jordan you've taken up with. And, if you're on the up and up now, how come you're sellin' raffle tickets for a counterfeit Walker Colt?"

Jared came to an abrupt halt right in the middle of the town square. The look he gave Elliott stopped him cold in his tracks as well.

"What makes you think it's a fake? You just glanced at it. I never knew you to be an expert in firearms."

"If you recall, a Walker was my first gun, when I was eight. Pa traded a peddler a pair of horses for it. I can tell this one is fake by the color of the barrel and the poor craftsmanship. Lemme see it close up," Elliott said as he reached out his hand, but Jared wouldn't give it to him. "Well, I was just gonna show you that the markin's are probably abbreviated, 'specially Samuel Colt's name." Elliott gave Jared a close scrutiny. "They are, aren't they? I can tell by your expression."

Suddenly, a wagon driver had to pull up his horses to avoid a collision with the two men. Rain had made the mud in the streets so thick that wagon wheels clogged up and wouldn't turn. It was mired up to its axles in mud and was not easy to get rolling again. Several men helped push it out of the deep ruts in the street.

"Come on," El said. "You'll get us run over."

El pulled Jared over to the wooden sidewalk in front of Ling's store, just next to the bank. Those boardwalks were a real blessing in weather like this, just as the brick sidewalk in front of the former Wannamaker homestead had been a sign of his great prosperity.

Now, the cousins both stared in at the window, feigning interest in the wares on display.

"Jared, are you intentionally perverting the truth? I do believe you're falsely misrepresentin' the authenticity of this pistol to induce others to part with their hard-earned cash."

"You're definin' fraud, El. Remember, I'm a Federal Marshal, now. I know a little bit about the law."

"Little wonder, since we've both been on the wrong side of it so long."

"There's a little more to this than meets the eye. I know that vintage weapons are commonly faked."

"And you know the Texas Rangers' Walker is a Colt treasure. Collectors always heed Sam Colt's warnin' 'Beware of counterfeits.'"

"El, keep your nose out of business that ain't yours."

"You might as well use that gun for a paperweight. It's worthless to a collector. Why, Jared, this sounds like a makeover of the fiddle scam. You know, where one man has a worthless violin and he leaves it with the mark. Then another feller makes out how valuable it is and says he's goin' off to get $5,000 to give him for it. Meanwhile, when the real owner returns, the mark offers him $100 for it, thinkin' the other fellow will be back with $5,000."

"Yeah. And neither one ever comes back. That's the scam you was workin' when your wife died, wasn't it?"

El hung his head momentarily. "Yeah. But since my children are grown, I've made it up to them. I'll be a better grandfather than I was a father."

Jared gave him a stern look.

"Hey, Jare. Who's this widow Jordan you've taken up with?"

"She's a friend, nothin' more. And I'll warn you to treat her well, should you happen to meet her. Which I doubt."

"You're just jealous."

"I just know you've connived and scammed widow ladies out of money before."

"I'm a changed man," Elliot said. "I gotta new occupation, tryin' to help the law catch embezzlers and confidence men. That's why I'm in town. I gotta swear you to secrecy, but there's possible defalcation going on at the bank."

"I'll be sure to look that up in my dictionary when I get back to my office."

Elliott gave him a big grin. "You won't have to. Defalcation -- embezzlement -- occurs when the perpetrator, who lawfully possesses property illegally converts it into his own property. Crimes of this nature involve a relationship of trust and confidence."

"Like a treasurer or a bank president?"

"Exactly. Or a lawyer."

"Funny you should mention that occupation, Attorney Stone," Jared quipped.

"So how would a feller get introduced to this widow Jordan?"

Stone scowled. "Reckon a feller would hafta be a churchgoer."

"Oh, so she's a psalm singer? Jare, didn't I tell you? I got saved, too."

Stone gave him a look of disbelief as he entered the bank. El told the bank clerk he was there to see Carver while Jared put the gun in the bank safe. The ticket money he had raised so far went in a savings account. When he had finished his business, he said goodbye to his cousin.

"See you in church," El said and waved goodbye.

"Not if I see you first."

El was called to the bank president's office to meet with the banker. It didn't take him long to get right to the point.

"Seems like a lot of people in Silver City have defaulted on their promissory notes," Elliott stated. "Particularly widow ladies."

"Failure to meet financial obligations is becoming more and more common all the time. Of course, a clever banker always knows more than a little about the affairs of his customers."

El thought, _you might know more than a little about embezzlement, too._

"I suppose," Carver continued, "you heard about one of those widow ladies attacking me right here in my office?"

"My cousin might have made some mention of it." That wasn't a lie. He wished that Jared _had_ made mention of it. This was juicy gossip.

"Emily Jordan. She threw herself at me. I was very surprised at her actions."

"I'm sure you were," Elliott agreed, noting that Carver, with his obviously false teeth was not particularly good looking.

"My disbelief soon turned to dismay when she pulled a gun on me, all because I refused her advances. You see, I make it a point to never mix business and pleasure," Carver added.

"So you had business dealings with her?"

"Banking business," Carver said nervously.

Elliott got the impression Carver had let something slip that he hadn't meant to.

"I guess something like that could give you a feeling of being betrayed," Elliott commented.

"Our business has ended. She has withdrawn her money from the bank."

"Ah, too bad. That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about."

"You have money to place in our fine banking establishment? I assure you, it is safe here at the Silver City branch."

"Ah, actually, I wanted to speak to you about an investment opportunity." "The bank is not interested in making unsecured loans." "Not the bank." Elliott leaned forward conspiratorially. "You as an individual. I know that bank presidents only earn about $250 a month. The bank clerks get $150 and even those silver miners get $80 a month. One of those lovely ladies of the evenin' over at the Velvet Cushion might earn $200 a month, and that at $5 a customer and two bits for a dance. Why, even the Marshal makes $150 a month. I can understand how a man could be tempted to take a little of the money entrusted to his care. He needs a little more each month, and the perfect opportunity presents itself – well, it doesn't take much rationalization to figure out what to do. 

"A man might pilfer cash intending to replace it later. Or he figures a little money won't be missed. Or he gives himself a deserved raise or bonus. Of course, I'm not sayin' a man in your position would do such a thing, just that sometimes men are tempted."

Carver's interest was piqued and his lust for money was undiminished, so Elliott continued, knowing that you get their attention directed elsewhere, then you pull the real con.

"I have no qualms about making a little money on the side. In my business – bein' an attorney -- I get to know a lot of people. Say a certain man invests a new calculating machine that will revolutionize accounting. He comes to me to help him protect his interest in it. I can get him in touch with the right people – people with money to invest."

"What kind of machine?" Carver asked.

"He calls it a Sucaba. Makes these new adding machines look outdated. Calculates faster and more accurately than any of 'em. Adds, subtracts, multiples, divides. You know those adding machines can't multiply or divide, just add or subtract. The true appeal of the Sucaba is its simplicity. A child can easily learn to operate it accurately and with great speed."

Elliott paused for effect before adding the clincher. "This new calculatin' machine can take care of coverin' up scant funds or money that's been unavoidably lost."

Now he had him. It wasn't really a lie. The machine could do anything a man told it to do, and an inventive bookkeeper would have little problem covering up embezzled funds.

Carver rubbed his chin. "How much money would an investor need to get in on a deal like that?"

"Five thousand dollars," Elliott answered. "In two weeks' time, that money would be doubled. Ten thousand return on your investment. It's an amazing opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime deal. I've invested my own money and need just this little bit more to finalize production. As a matter of fact, I can give you one of the very few prototypes when I get your cash investment."

Carver looked pensive. "I'll have to think about it."

Elliott Stone walked out of the bank with a pleased expression on his face. He turned in at Ling's Store and knew exactly what he wanted to purchase. He had seen it on the shelf earlier when he'd looked in the window with Jared. As he paid the Chinese clerk, he asked her to wrap it in plain brown paper.

Then he went to the Velvet Cushion for a well-deserved shot or two of whiskey.

The piano player was softly 'tickling the ivories' in one corner as Elliott took a cheroot from his gold case, lit it and blew out big smoke rings. The third shot of whiskey hit him like a punch in the belly as he watched -- with evident pleasure -- Luci Prescott come down the stairs. When she saw him, a big smile came over her face. The other men in the saloon stared after her as she walked to him.

"Well, well. If it ain't El!" she said as she sauntered up to him and gave him a big kiss right on the lips. "You notorious flirt!" she told him.

He put on his most charming smile. "Nice seein' you again, too, Luce," he said. His grin was disarming, even to a worldly woman like Luci. His bright, deep blue eyes seemed to notice everything going on around him and still appear to look only at her, as if she were the only woman in the world worth looking at.

"What's in the package?" she asked when she noticed it sitting on the bar.

"No peekin'," he answered. "That's the rules."

"Under the _new_ rules," Luci informed him, pointing her finger sternly in his face, "you start a fight like you used to, you are ejected from my saloon, forcibly if necessary, and you aren't welcome back."

He grabbed her finger and gently touched it to his lips. "So I might as well go home now," he stated as he released her hand.

"Well, I don't know about that," Luci said rather dreamily. "You get caught with your hand in the cookie jar again? Can't you be a good boy?" She pressed herself into his side and rubbed up against him.

Her eyes met his and stared into them. She had thick blonde hair, just the way a man wants it. Softness in all the right places. Her lips were bursting, waiting for things to happen. She was temptation incarnate.

El smiled. "All of a sudden, I'm not so sure. I was ever party to many of the grosser forms of sin; but I have changed my ways, although I might share one dance with you."

"Just one?" Luci asked as she grabbed the cigar out of his hand and put it out in his nearly empty whiskey glass. The extinguished ember made a sizzling sound as she wrapped her arms around him, swaying to the piano music. "Jared warned me you were back in town."

"Shoulda known you'd be on friendly terms with my cousin. Jared always would ride anything that'd let him get up."

"And you still dance as fine as you ride, which ain't sayin' much!" she teased him.

Meanwhile, back at the bank, Tevis Carver was on the telephone.

"He's suspicious. He's been snooping," he said.

A pause.

"No, he doesn't suspect you."

A longer pause.

"No, I won't call you again." He hung up the phone receiver.

_Intriguing_, he thought to himself. _I wonder what she's up to?_


	4. Act Three

**Title**: **Stone Soup**

**Author**: Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006

**Chapter:** Act Three

**Comments** to: feedback to the list or to my email address, new scenes, new story, new characters

**Rating**: PG -- This story may contain some mild violence.

**Pairing**: none (of original series' characters)

**Spoilers**: The story contains references to another short story by the author, _Stone Cold Heart._

**Archive**: Yes, at http/ http/tv.groups. and at author's website, http/aimee-dupre. NOTE: Author's website includes pictures from the original series.

**Summary**: How can a collectible pistol and a calculating invention bring two distrustful conspirators together? The lawyer with a swindler's past could give the passionate widow everything – his hopes, his dreams, his secret thoughts. But could she trust him? Only U. S. Marshal Jared Stone can show them they are after the same things: justice . . . and love.

**Warnings**: This story contains some mild violence and veiled references to sex.

**Disclaimer**: The characters in the story (with the exception of new characters created by Aimee DuPré) are the sole property of Peacemakers, USA Networks, and in association with Michael R. Joyce Production. This is a work of fan fiction that intends no infringement on copyright or trademark.

**New** **Characters**: New characters created by Aimee DuPré include Mrs. Emily Jordan (Katie Owens' aunt), Mr. Elliott Stone (Jared Stone's cousin), and Tevis Carver, Bank President, and are the sole property of Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006.

**Author's Notes:** none

**Stone Soup**

By Aimee DuPré

Copyright January, 2006

**Act Three**

Katie busied herself in the mortuary's prep room. The onslaught of inclement weather continued, and the deceptive gray skies belied the time of day. Spirits were as sodden as the townsfolk.

Emily came in to help her.

"How I wish the sun would shine," she said.

"I can't remember when I had dry feet," Katie laughed.

Emily broke out in song, "It's raining, it's pouring; the old man is snoring." She looked at Katie tenderly. "Do you remember your grandmother teaching you that song?"

"A little. Your mama had a beautiful voice."

"And a beautiful touch on the piano, although by the time you came along she didn't play any longer."

"You know, that reminds me," Katie mentioned. "Have you met Jared's cousin, Elliott?"

"I haven't had the pleasure of making his acquaintance."

Katie smiled. "Oh, it's a pleasure, all right. He is so charming and debonair, he makes Larimer Finch look like a backwoodsman."

"Is Elliott Stone as handsome as his cousin?"

"Yes. Quite," Katie agreed, adding, "for an older man."

"Are you interested?" Emily asked her.

"Oh, no; although I did admit once to Jared that I had a penchant for older men. You should have seen his face!" Katie laughed. "He must have thought I was attracted to him."

"And you are, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little, but mostly as a friend. You know, he treats me as an equal. He doesn't look down on me for wanting to be a doctor, or for coming home to run Father's business. And he doesn't try to put me on a pedestal, either, thinking I need a man's protection to survive. Oh, he's protective of me, but it's in a fatherly way. I just wish . . ." she stopped mid sentence.

"What do you wish, Katie?"

Just then there was a knock at the door, and the two jumped, startled. They turned to the window to see Marshal Stone and Detective Finch. The younger man held a leather pouch close to his chest, and Katie went to let them in.

"Katie, Miss Emily," Stone said as he took his hat off and held it by his side. Finch nodded and inquisitively peered around Katie trying to get a look at the prep room equipment.

"Something wrong, marshal?" Katie asked, ignoring Finch.

"No, no. Nothin' wrong. I was wonderin' . . ." he hesitated, fumbling with the brim of his hat. "We need to speak to your Aunt Emily in private. Would that be okay?"

Emily went towards him. "Katie was just cleaning up. We can sit and talk in the parlor."

Stone's eyes widened and he looked nervous, so Emily reassured him, "There's not a body in there right now, Marshal."

Stone breathed a sigh of relief. Death had always made him uncomfortable, and it seemed all the Owens women were quite the opposite.

She led the way and let the two men sit on the floral sofa while she sat opposite them in a chair.

"Could I offer you some refreshments? Coffee? Cookies?"

Finch sat up straighter. "What kind of cookies?" he asked.

Stone punched him in the ribs with his elbow and gave him a stern look.

"I heard she makes great cookies, Marshal," he explained.

"We don't have time for refreshments this afternoon, Mrs. Jordan," the lawman said formally. "Finch wanted to tell you what he's discovered."

"About the promissory note?" Emily asked.

Finch pulled papers from the leather pouch.

"You see, Mrs. Jordan," he began, and leaned closer to her, holding the papers out. She was still too far away to see them plainly. Finch fumbled some until Stone moved over on the sofa and motioned for Emily to sit between them.

"You see," Finch continued. "There is your brother's signature on this deed you gave me. You said you know it's his signature. And here on tracing paper is your brother's signature on the bank's promissory note that Carver showed you. I got it from the bank clerk, unbeknownst to Carver."

Finch placed the tracing paper over the signature on the deed. They matched.

"So he _did_ sign the note," Emily said, dejected, and she sighed.

"Not so fast," Finch said. "Notice anything suspicious about the signatures?"

"Not really," she said, looking closer. "They match precisely."

"That's suspicious," Stone said, irritated at Finch for dragging it out. "Finch says no one signs his name that consistently."

"So," Finch interrupted. "I surmise your brother's signature has been forged onto the promissory note, probably by tracing it, just as I did."

A broad smile came over Emily's face, and Stone hated to dash her hopes.

"Emily, it's just the first step," he said. "One small piece of evidence against Carver. We'll need more proof to arrest him."

"And to convict him," Finch added. "He must pay for what he's done not only to Katie but to others in this town, widows who suddenly discover after their husbands die that they owe a mortgage to the bank."

Stone was grim. "Tevis Carver will be brought to justice, but for now, we gotta keep this under our hats."

"As we gather more evidence," Finch explained. He put the papers back into his pouch.

"I will be discreet," Emily promised.

"Finch, I'll meet you in back. I have one more thank to tell Em . . . Mrs. Jordan before we go."

Finch nodded and left to see what Katie was up to.

"Emily, I don't quite know how to put this. I don't mean to butt in where I don't belong."

She could tell Jared was uncomfortable, so she patiently waited and moved over to where Finch had been sitting.

"Well," the lawman continued. It's about my cousin, Elliott Stone. He's a lawyer over in Yellow Dog. I don't think you've met him yet, have you?"

"I have not had the pleasure."

"Not sure that's a good word for it. Emily, you know I think a lot of you. I hope you understand. I just want to warn you about El."

He looked over at her, sitting beside him, gently smiling at him. How could he put this without it seeming like he was pursuing her himself?

"You know how you told me Tevis Carver attacked you?"

Her eyes widened at the memory and she nodded.

"Well, El won't do that," Jared quickly reassured her. "But he's been known to court widow ladies and take money from them."

"He's a thief?"

"Not exactly. The ladies _give_ him their money."

"He's a charming thief," she stated, and Stone had to smile.

"He just works it so he's named executor of the will and trustee of the decedent's estate. Then he has the authority to make investment decisions and has control over investments. He's not real dependable on makin' good ones," Stone explained. "And he's not real faithful, either."

"He's a heart breaker, a lady-killer, and a . . . a . . ." she hesitated, searching for the correct word.

"A scoundrel," he finished for her.

"So when he makes sure that he meets me, you suggest caution on my part?"

"Yeah," he quickly agreed, since she was the one saying it.

"Does he have a criminal record?"

"Not to my knowledge. He's guilty of doin' moral wrongs, but he's never been caught doin' anything illegal."

"To your knowledge."

Stone nodded. "There's five years between us, age wise," he continued, "but we spent summers together. At first, my pa made me look after him 'cause he was the baby of our family. El would tag along after me anyway, so it got so I'd make sure he was nearby. When he was eight and I was thirteen, he used to tease me about the girls I sorta liked. But he'd stand up for me when I wasn't around. And once, when I got in a fight, he dove right in on my side. Got his first black eye. I thought his pa and mine would both kill me over it, but when they heard the story, seemed like they were proud of both of us. Boy, some of the trouble we used to get into, mostly from me tryin' to keep _him_ outta trouble. El always had a smart mouth, but I don't think he ever met anyone who wasn't his friend. They all ended up gettin' to like him. I'm glad I know the man he's become. Guess I love him, but don't tell him I said so."

He paused and fumbled some with the brim of his hat. "Consider some friendly advice, Emily. Keep your eyes on him. I can tell you what he used to be, but it wouldn't be nice. Maybe he has changed. He keeps sayin' he has, but it would've took somethin' mighty powerful. He says he got religion."

"That would be powerful enough to change a man," she agreed.

"I like you, Emily, as a friend. I don't want to see you get hurt. You know what I mean."

"Yes, Jared. I do know. You not wanting me to get hurt -- that's exactly why there could never be anything _but_ friendship between the two of us."

He lowered his eyes. "Guess I'm tryin' to say that even though he used to be a lyin', thievin', gamblin' swindler, he's got a good heart, down deep inside. He's got a conscience; he just don't listen to it. He knows when he's doin' the right thing. He just makes his games seem like he's doin' the right thing. I never knew him to take money from any but the wealthy, and then never all of it. That don't make it right. I'm not sayin' that. Just . . . well, you're a real special woman, Emily."

"I think I'll be safe from his advances, Jared. I don't have any wealth."

"Just the Walker Colt, which, by the way, El insists is a fake."

Her eyebrows raised. "He does? Is he an expert?"

"Not as far as I'm concerned. If it _was_ a fake, Emily, what would you do?"

"I would feel obligated to return everyone's raffle money to them and find some other way to raise money for the mortuary mortgage. I certainly would not want to cheat anyone."

"We'll just cross that bridge if we come to it. As far as I'm concerned, the raffle is being run legitimately."

"That's all that counts," Emily agreed.

The church bell was ringing and they were late.

Emily Jordan felt like a mother hen flapping two chicks to safety as she tried to hurry her nieces, Katie and Amy. No matter how hard she tried, one was always making the other late. She scolded them with a twinkle in her eye, pleased that she had family to go to church with, even if they were late.

Not one of them was able to keep completely dry, especially not her.

The flooded streets were nearly impassable. Once a wagon got in the ruts, it was quickly stuck until the driver could dig out. Mud was caked on boots, and the horses were miserable, fetlock deep in the mud. Why, the bottom of Emily's skirt was so stained by the mud it would probably never come clean. Why didn't someone invent mud-colored clothing? They could call them something like "Mudd's."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone very fashionably dressed, umbrella held over his head, rushing towards her. The speed was not unusual considering the constant downpour. When the man got to her, in one smooth motion, he tucked his Bible underneath his arm and held his own umbrella over her while taking her umbrella out of her hand.

Mr. Elliott Stone gave Emily's umbrella to Katie and told her and Amy, "You two hurry on inside the sanctuary before you're soaked."

It all happened very quickly, and then he turned to face Mrs. Jordan. She suddenly found herself staring into the deepest, bluest eyes she'd ever seen.

My, how those big blues sparkled as he gave her his biggest smile.

"Mrs. Jordan, I do hope you'll forgive my barging in like that, but your bustle was gettin' wet."

Emily felt her face turn as hot as fire. Men weren't supposed to act like they noticed a woman's bustle, although that was exactly the reason women wore the silly things – for men to notice. She blushed again. She never used to be so prone to blushing, and she wondered if it was getting to be that time of life for her. She managed to smile back at him, though he had left her completely speechless.

"Ma'am, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I assure you my intentions are honorable, although we have yet to be introduced. I am Elliott Stone, Attorney at Law." He tipped his hat and accidentally tipped the umbrella he held over their heads, getting her wet from the rain dripping off the edge. "Oh, I am so sorry," he apologized. Somehow she doubted that he was usually so nervous around the fairer sex. He was playing on her emotions. He was gaining her sympathy, trying to act shy.

"Quite all right," she assured him.

"My cousin Jared pointed you out to me, Mrs. Jordan. I do hope you forgive my rash introduction. I just couldn't seem to find the proper way to meet you before today, and I so wanted to enjoy your company at church this morning. I do hope you'll allow me the privilege of joining you."

She managed to nod at him. _My, how utterly charming he is, and such a fast talker. _"We are late for church," she noted aloud.

He placed his arm at the small of her back. "Then we'd best hurry."

He only touched her briefly _– too briefly_, she thought – to hurry her along. His touch sent chills down her arms.

It was difficult to remember Jared's stern words to her yesterday now that she was beside his captivating cousin today. Jared had assured her his cousin's intentions were – at least, had been, in the past – far from honorable. The man had a reputation for defrauding widow ladies. She had wondered how he did it when Jared had told her, but she'd been afraid to ask. Now she knew. He smiled at them with his blue eyes sparkling. Why, if she had any money, she'd be tempted to give it to him, too.

Inside the church house, all eyes turned to watch the two of them come down the aisle together, though it was considered impolite to stare. Naturally, the only open seats were in front, second pew from the pulpit. Emily had never before noticed how long that aisle was. She felt every eye on her, and she kept looking at Mr. Stone out of the corner of her eye. He seemed unaffected by the attention, perfectly at ease, sure of himself, friendly – as if he'd been in town for years and knew everyone.

And how Reverend Knowles did go on. She'd always listened intently to his sermons before, but this morning, with the most handsome man in town sitting beside her, the Reverend seemed to ramble. She couldn't concentrate, and she kept remembering how, after the first hymn, Mr. Stone had leaned over close to her ear and whispered, "You have a beautiful voice, Miss Emily."

His breath tickled the hairs around her ear until she felt like giggling like a schoolgirl with her first crush. He was taking liberties already by calling her by her given name when she hadn't given her permission. She should have told him off, but she didn't. Instead, she noticed that his scent was surprisingly pleasant, not at all like the smell of Jared Stone -- beer mingled with tobacco, horses, and leather. Cousin Elliott's appearance and manners were immaculate.

She had never been so glad and so sad for a church service to be over. Glad because she hated all the attention and sad because Mr. Stone would be leaving her side.

Katie came up to them after the benediction.

"I am sure Aunt Emily has already invited you to lunch with us, and I truly hope you will," she sweetly said. She probably wouldn't have believed that as much as a talker as her aunt usually was, she'd barely said a word to the man the whole time. And it had completely slipped her mind to offer him a meal.

"I will be delighted," he agreed.

"Well, I'll go on ahead to help Amy prepare. Aunt Emily, you and Mr. Stone take your time."

Katie rushed off, and it was some time before the two made it outside the church. It seemed as though everyone had taken a liking to the marshal's cousin. He seemed so friendly and trustworthy, honest and reliable.

She knew she could never trust him.

Finally, the two walked alone, and Emily was the first the break their silence.

"My mama used to tell me when it rained that it was the angels crying," she reminisced.

He smiled. "My mama told me a good hard rain could wash sins away. I'm glad I found out that only the blood of Jesus can do that."

"So am I," she agreed. "Will you be in Silver City long, Mr. Stone?"

"Please. Call me Elliott. Or El, like everyone else does. I know we haven't known each other long, but my time in town is short. Somehow, though, I feel as if we've known each other before, perhaps in another lifetime."

"Elliott, I don't believe in things like reincarnation."

"You're right, of course. Only resurrection," he added with a smile. "Yet the concept of soul mates is so romantic, don't you agree?"

She stiffened because it seemed to her that he had changed his tune when he discovered her preferences. He was like a chameleon, changing his colors to fit the situation.

"I imagine you know quite a bit about romance, Mr. Stone."

"El," he corrected. "I gather my reputation has proceeded me, compliments of my dear cousin?"

She sadly nodded.

"But I assure you, I'm a changed man. Even the darkest sin can be forgiven, Miss Emily."

She pursed her lips. He had her there.

"Repentance does wonders for the soul," he added.

She was so curious that she had to ask, "So how _did_ you defraud all those ladies?"

He grinned mischievously. "Oh, that's water under the bridge."

"I can imagine. I can just see you meeting some widow lady, sad, lonely – and wealthy, of course -- and offering her comfort in her time of distress."

"Some people seem to have a knack for comforting others." His smile was delicious, simply breathtaking.

"And then I can see you visiting with her and asking to call on her, and then one evening, when you are discussing your day's business with her – oh, whatever it is that attorney's do all day . . ."

"Write briefs for litigation, research legal precedents, twiddle their thumbs," he interrupted.

". . . you sadly mention how you had to pass up the most fantastic deal."

"I did?"

"Yes. You see, you had an opportunity to double your money on a real estate deal. You had inside information about a nearly worthless piece of property that a mining company was going to purchase because silver was discovered deep within. If only you had ten thousand dollars, you could purchase that property, hold it for a week or two at the most, and then sell it for twenty thousand dollars to another mining company."

"I could?"

"Yes. But, alas, all your cash is tied up in stocks and bonds and other real estate holdings. There would be penalties involved, too much time involved to free up cash funds. This deal has to be made on the morrow or it will be too late. If only you knew where you could get your hands on ten thousand cash. Why, you could borrow it at fifty percent interest and still make money yourself."

"The best confidence game always plays upon the other person's greed. I'm just wondering how you, of all people, happen to know that."

"And your widow lady friend, whom you have become very friendly with, pipes up – as if it is her idea all along – that she just so happens to have ten thousand cash – which, of course, you had already discovered in your preliminary investigation of her prior to befriending her – and she offers it to you."

"Which I, of course, refuse – at first – not wanting to involve a lady such as herself in such sordid business dealings."

"Of course. But she insists upon your taking the money to invest for her – for the two of you – for your future. Why, she wouldn't think of charging you interest to borrow it. You could just have it."

"Emily," he said with true admiration in his voice and on his face, "where on earth do you come up with such ideas? I only wish I had thought of something so cunning when I was yet a sinful swindler."

"Then of course, you tell her you must take a trip and will be gone for at least two weeks – or however long you think you may need to make your getaway. And you go on and on about how you'll miss her, being soul mates and all."

"Soul mates sounds so romantic," he agreed with a smile.

They had arrived at Katie's home, and even outside on the street, the smells from the kitchen made Emily's stomach growl.

As they climbed to the porch, Elliott shook the water from his hat, taking care not to get her wet.

"We must continue this little talk some other time. "May I call on you tomorrow afternoon?"

She was dumbstruck. This handsome man was asking to see her again, and his visit with her today wasn't even completed yet. Her mouth was so dry she couldn't swallow, let alone speak. She could tell that Elliott, unlike his cousin Jared, was very much aware of the effect his good looks had upon the fairer sex, and he used it to his advantage.

He flirtatiously smiled at her and it made wrinkles on each side of his twinkling eyes. "Are you thinking of a reason to say no? Try to let me down easy," he teased.

"Oh, no," she stammered. She wasn't used to having a man tease her, especially not one who was so attractive. It befuddled her brains in a most uncomfortable way. "I mean, not 'no.' Of course. I would love to." She immediately regretted using the word "love;" she sounded too eager.

"Good. Two o'clock. I'll beg, borrow or steal a buggy and we'll take a ride."

She nodded but couldn't help doubt his sincerity. After all, it wasn't as if she was agreeing to a courtship. It was only a buggy ride. He would hardly ask for her hand in marriage. But she wouldn't put it past him to steal the buggy, either.

His voice broke her concentration. "I'm most interested in hearing more of your conjectures."

"Maybe they're not conjectures," she mysteriously replied.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are far too serious?" Elliott asked. "Don't you ever let your hair down and have fun?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm far too serious," she said with a slight grin.

He gave her a mysterious smile. "I can remedy that."

"I doubt it."

"May I surprise you?"

She raised an eyebrow. "As long as you don't become annoying."

"But my persistence is all right with you?"

"I suppose."

"Persistence can be romantic," he stated.

And that was when Emily Owens Jordan realized she was falling in love.


End file.
